


a cup of tea, a moment in time

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Tea Parties, outside view of a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: During the relative peace of their time on Home One, a gathering of friends learns of particularly interesting gossip around Captain Cassian Andor, and Jyn Erso, the new recruit
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso, Leia Organa/Sabine Wren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	a cup of tea, a moment in time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Incorrect Rebelcaptain Quotes](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/709174) by Dasakuryo. 



> Based on a very amusing edit by Dasakuryo and a comment by the amazing mockingjaypin on tumblr.  
> [ link to the edit ](https://dasakuryo.tumblr.com/post/631181332993687552/incorrect-rebelcaptain-quotes1-thanks-to)  
> Pure fluff, ignore any timeline issues, all comments welcome

After the ceremony honoring the heroes who'd destroyed the Death Star, after the evacuation of Yavin IV, the Rebellion, in general, was given a chance to take a much-needed deep breath. They know, of course, that the next battle is just around the corner, that the Empire won’t need much time to nurse its wounds before coming back all the stronger. But for now, as they settle down aboard Home One, ready for the long journey to find a new headquarters base, the Rebels, in general, go about making the ship feel… well, like a home.

There’s a thousand ways to do that, of course. For some, it involved bringing their children aboard. For others, it meant it was the time to declare those feelings of love long held back for fear of complicating a mission. And for Sabine, it mainly meant decorating her room with paint, before moving on to other rooms in need of a little more color, including the princess’s own suite.

She’d been hard at work on that when Leia suggested they call together the group that met for tea, an idea that Sabine agreed to without hesitation. Their tea-time, over the last standard month, had become one of the very best parts of her days, and one she knew she’d miss when it was time to leave once more, heading out on another impossible mission.

The other women answered the summons quickly, with Hera appearing with both her son and a plate of fresh-baked treats, and Shara walking by with Kes, Poe on his shoulders, only for the little one to see Jacen and demand to stay for teatime with his mother.

Greetings were made, the simple sort one gives when there’s actually no risk of anyone losing their life between meetings, the sort that Sabine hadn’t had enough of in her life, and then, the women settled down to enjoy the freshly brewed tea, and more importantly, to talk.

“So, it turns out,” Leia says, as she lifts the metallic teapot to pour tea for each of them. “The writer of the love letters was Draven’s own wife.”

“He’s _married?”_ Sabine asks.

“Quite so,” Hera nods, lifting her own teacup in agreement, “though it had apparently been a political marriage, decades ago. We’d all thought there was no fondness left between them.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Leia smiles. “That she went to such lengths to show her love.”

“I think it’s impossible that anyone could feel romantic toward him,” Shara replies. She’s not at the table, having volunteered to watch the little ones for a bit, in part since the last time they’d all had tea, Poe had tried to chew the tablecloth. “Knew it couldn’t be Mon Mothma. She’s got more taste than that.”

Sabine leans forward to grab one of the small sweet biscuits resting on the plate. They’re far fancier than the ones she’s used to dunking into her tea, but she figures that’s what happens when one is spending time with a princess. Even if Leia isn’t an ordinary princess, at least, most times. It’s easy to forget, usually, that the young woman across from her, with her long hair tied back into a simple bun, her slightly-too-large standard issue uniform belted with a bit of seatbelt scrap, is one of the most important figures of the Rebellion. The Leia she is when there’s a ceremony or a mission briefing, all serious and noble, fades as soon as the door to her suite of rooms closes, leaving behind someone witty, kind, and as much a fan of gossip as Sabine herself.

Of course, Shara, who is currently watching both Poe and Jacen as they half-eat, half-crumble-into-oblivion, their own biscuits, had let Sabine knew that they called it _chisme_ , the first time she’d invited Sabine into their weekly teatime chat. For her part, Sabine had thought that the meetings were going to be rather formal affairs, since Leia was a princess, and Shara was intimidating as all hells, so the first time she’d come, she’d polished her armor and prepared to make Hera proud with her manners…. only to find all three of them, including Hera, dressed in casual clothes, sitting on pillows, laughing as they speculated who might be the brave soldier sending love letters to Commander Draven.

Sabine had gleefully joined in the discussion, leaving her helmet aside, and leaving, too, all the fears and concerns she had about the Rebellion, all the stress of knowing the next battle would come, but never knowing _when_ it might be. She’d been coiled so tight, ever since the battle against the Death Star, (and if she’s honest with herself, far longer) that it had taken her a few minutes to remember how to laugh, how to tease, how to simply enjoy the warm friendship offered by the others.

The door whooshes open once more, and all four women turn, each of them dropping their casual postures and laughter to reach for their weapons. Old habits die hard.

But the man in the doorway is just Luke Skywalker, the hotshot pilot from Tatoonine. Sabine hasn’t had much of a chance to speak to him, though she has determined he’s far less annoying than the Corellian smuggler he hangs around. Personally, she likes the Wookie best. Luke leans a hand on the doorway, his blue eyes wide. His hair is rumpled and his face is flushed, as if he’s just run down the hall. “Leia!” he says, “you will _never_ guess what I just heard.”

At that, the women not only relax, but exchange a look of absolute delight. Sabine pats the pillow next to her. “Come on in. Tell us _everything.”_

“Oh, I shouldn’t… I promised Threepio I’d listen to his recital of…” Luke trails off as his gaze locks onto the plate in the center of the small table. “are those _frosted warra nut cookies?”_

“They’re biscuits,” Leia says, her proper Core-world accent on full display, a clear contrast to Luke’s casual Outer Rim dialect. She bites into one, the crisp cookie snapping in the silence of the room. “but yes, they are frosted.”

“And filled with candied meilooruns,” Hera adds, lifting the plate. “I baked them myself. Would you like one?”

The so-called Hero of the Death Star Battle practically skips forward as he reaches out for a dessert. “Oh, yes. Thank you, General Syndulla. Thank you very much.”

She laughs. “Just Hera will do. Now, come, tell us what you’ve heard.”

“well, I didn’t really hear it myself,” Luke says, settling on the cushion, talking through a mouth full of cookies. “But while I was working on my X-Wing, someone was talking to someone else, and they said that they heard that…” he pauses, clearly oblivious to how both Leia and Sabine are leaning forward, utterly curious about what he’s going to say. “Can I have some tea, too, Leia?”

The princess’s lips press into a narrow line, for only a moment, before she shakes her head and smiles. “Of course Luke. But I have to ask… this gossip. Is it about Captain Solo?”

“Who? Han? Uh, no. It’s someone else. Not Han. I mean. I’ve heard stuff about him too… Not bad things! But, like, I heard that a year or so ago, that he--”

Hera clears her throat. “Why don’t we resume the first discussion point, Luke, as I don’t believe my tea is quite strong enough to deal with any second-hand stories about that Corellian.”

Sabine rather agrees, and wishes Hera would just take Han up on his darn blustering bet for a race between his junkpile of a ship and the Ghost, so that maybe, for once, the man would be _silent_ for half an hour of mealtime.

“But…” Leia begins, sounding quite interested in whatever Captain Solo had done. Sabine shakes her head at the thought. There’s no accounting for some people’s taste. Though she hopes, privately, that Leia’s interest in the man is no more than a passing fancy. There’s no reason to think it’s anything more than that, given how often the teatime is filled with her complaints about him.

Hera pushes the plate toward her. “Leia, would you like another cookie?”

“COOKIE!” Poe shouts, leaping to his feet, wobbling as he does so, and nearly knocking Jacen over. Shara leaps forward to keep her son from launching himself at the table. When both toddlers begin to cry, Shara scoops them both into her arms, humming a song to them. Jacen fusses for a moment, saying how he also wanted a cookie--or ten cookies.

Hera smiles at her. “Thank you. I think he’s had a little too much sugar.”

“Which one?” Shara responds with a grin. “I’ll take them both out for a nap.”

“No nap,” Poe mutters. “Never sleep.”

“No sleep,” Jacen agrees, even as he yawns.

Shara shakes her head at both boys, carefully standing while cradling them both, one on each hip. It’s the sort of small thing, Sabine thinks, that makes the whole Rebellion thing worth it. This family that they’ve all found. It’s not the same as the tight-knit connection she’d had on the Ghost, but it’s nice all the same. And it’s good for Jacen to have another kid to play with, she figures, even if Poe doesn’t seem to like it when Jacen accidentally makes his toys float away. Both boys wave to the assembled group at the table, and Hera blows her son a tiny kiss, which makes him giggle. To make it through the doorway more easily, Shara props it open with a boot Leia’s left by the door.

“You were saying?” Hera asks, turning back to Luke.

“Oh, right.” Luke brushes crumbs off his pilot’s uniform. “So, what I heard is this. Captain Cassian Andor--you know, the one who led Rogue One to victory on Scarif--”

Sabine thought that might be a slight over-simplication, but she let it slide, because she was very interested in what could be said next.

“He’s in love! With the woman who went on the mission too. The one who…” he pauses. “She’s, uh, short? Brown-haired…”

“You’ve just described the majority of female humans in the Rebellion,” Hera replies, but not unkindly. “Jyn Erso, you mean? The new recruit?”

Luke nods. “Yes. Her. Apparently, right after Scarif, the two went straight onto another mission--” he glances over at Leia, as if the two of them know something no one else in the room does, but Leia’s expression gives nothing away.

She sips her tea. “I think it’s sweet. It’s good for Cas--for Captain Andor to have found someone." 

Sabine hadn't heard much about him, beyond the fact that he worked in Rebel Intelliegnce, and that non-gossipy rumors suggested he might be another Fulcrum agent. That alone, Sabine figures, speaks highly enough of his character for her to want the best for him.

“There will be plenty of broken hearts at the cantina soon, I presume,” Hera adds. “Cassian has a great many fans.”

Not for the first time, Sabine wonders just how her friend could know so much about so many people. “What’s she like? Jyn, that is?”

“I only met her briefly,” Leia says. “Prior to the, uh,” she bites her lip, proving that she, in a more official capacity, was the one to send both out on their task. “Anyway, she’s very smart. Stubborn. Ready to fight for what she believes in.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Hera murmurs. Somehow, that small comment is enough to make Sabine very focused on staring down at her mostly-empty teacup.

“I think they’ll make a good match,” Leia cuts in. “He could really use someone to support him. He’s been in this fight as long as you, Hera, if not longer.”

“Let’s not start discussing ages,” she laughs. “I am glad. I hope love will take the edge off both of them, let them settle in a bit while we’re all awaiting our next course of action.”

"Exactly," Leia replies. "It's so good to see so many people happy, now, after all we've been through. You and Kanan, Chirrut and Baze, so many others... why, I've received requests to officiate at no less than ten weddings."

"Can you do that?" Luke asks. "I can help. I love weddings. My aunt, Beru, she used to always volunteer to cook for weddings, back on the farm. She always said that nothing was better than the gossip you could learn while..." he pauses, wrinkling his nose. "Not that I condone gossip, of course. I mean, not bad gossip, at least."

"There's a difference between curiosity and cruelty, of course," Hera agrees. "And I don't think any of us here have cruel intentions. We're all just delighted to know that the stoic Cassian Andor might just have opened up his heart. I'm sure Jyn is very sweet, she'd have to be to win his affections. After all, he's had no small number of suitors leaving _him_ love letters."

"I'm sure Jyn is really nice," Sabine agrees, though nice feels like a silly word to describe any of the people on this ship. After all, despite the moments of normalcy like this one, every adult here was gathered together because they were ready to risk their lives for a nearly hopeless cause. "Maybe we can invite her to tea. If she's not too intimidated by how--"

"boisterous we can get?" Leia asks, poking her shoulder gently. "Are you perhaps thinking of the pillow fight of two weeks ago?"

"I did win, fair and square," Sabine mutters.

"Well, we will be sure to be on our best behavior if we're given a chance to spend time with Jyn," Hera says. "Though from what I hear, she's more likely to be at the practice range working on her aim."

"Perhaps love will sooth that need," Luke says. "If she's got someone to kiss, maybe she'll find inner peace. That's what Aunt Beru was always saying about Tamsin, the farmer who lived about twenty-five kilometers down east of us. She said that if Tamsin just found somebody to kiss, maybe she'd stop going out and hunting down wamp rats for dinner. But then, Aunt Beru's friend said, you know, maybe it's Tamsin's wamp rat coat keeping the suitors away, and--"

Sabine stares at the young man said to be one of the best pilots the Rebellion has ever seen, and, if other rumors are true, one who carries a lightsaber, a Jedi in training, just like Kanan and Ezra. Everything she'd heard of Luke suggested he was calm, noble, brave. No one had mentioned he gossiped worse than a Corellian hair-stylist without enough work to do.

"Back to Cassian," Leia says. "Do you think the two will make it official, Hera? Or are they more the private type?"

"He is quite shy," Hera points out. "I'm sure we won't hear anything for a long time about it."

Just then, voices echo from down the hall, carried in through the still propped open door. “It’s kriffing simple!” a female voice says. Though there’s more than a hint of that sophisticated Core-world accent, the curse words and volume levels suggest the person is anything but posh.

“Jyn, I don’t think…” the second voice is Festian, an accent Sabine only recognizes from meeting other rebels that had been born on that planet. And at the mention of the name of the first speaker, all of them in the room turn toward the door, watching.

“Is that--” Luke begins.

“Shh!” Leia and Sabine shush him in unison.

The assembled women and man try their best to angle themselves so they can look through the open doorway without appearing as if they’re doing so on purpose, with varying degrees of success. Leia leans past Sabine, her head resting on her shoulder, so close that Sabine can smell the soft, expensive perfume she wears. It smells somehow both delicate and bold, a fragrance fitting the princess.

“It’s them,” Leia whispers.

At that, all thoughts of nice perfumes and even nicer daydreams flies out of Sabine’s mind. There’s _drama_ unfolding in real time, and she’s lucky enough to see it.

A man in a captain’s jacket, the color faded and as broken in as his boots, strides past, accompanied by a woman who is wearing what appears to be her own take on the uniform, with trousers far too fitted to be regulation, and a vest that has more than one non-standard patch on it. Her brown hair is pulled back into a messy small bun, as chaotically styled as the scarf flung around her neck. That must be, Sabine thinks, Jyn Erso. And the other one, with his scruffy beard and his handsome features, that had to be Captain Cassian Andor.

The gossip Luke had provided is proving to be quite true indeed.

Unaware of the open door behind them, or perhaps simply assuming those inside the room had far better things to do than easvesdrop, the two continue their conversation. “I’m glad we got out of there alive, alright?” Cassian says gently. “It’s good to be home.”

The color high on Jyn’s cheeks fades as she smiles. “Yeah… I guess it is.” She shrugs. “Still getting used to that word.”

Cassian leans forward to kiss Jyn’s forehead, one hand carefully brushing away any errant locks of hair, a gesture so sweet that Leia practically coos out loud, stopped only by Sabine grabbing her hand to remind her they had to remain silent. Still, she had to admit she agreed with the princess. The couple out there was pretty damn cute. And, she thinks, so is this moment here, holding hands with the woman she’d for so long only ever thought of as the princess, and not as a friend. Now, though, after all these tea times, all these moments and stories shared, the title of friend fits well, as comfortably as Sabine’s own armor.

When Leia doesn’t let go, Sabine wonders if perhaps someday, there will be another word for what lies between her and the princess. Perhaps someday, they will be the two talked about over tea, and toasted to with smiles from their friends.

But she pushes all of that aside, for now, far more interested in the drama unfolding just outside the doorway. It’s as good as any holonovela, and far more amusing.

“I hope,” Cassian says, “we will have a long time to get you used to such a word.”

Jyn reaches up to kiss his nose in return. “And I hope,” she replies with a teasing tone that sends eyebrows up on all the faces of the watchers, “that you agree I’m right.”

“About what now, Erso?” Cassian shakes his head, sounding more bemused than annoyed.

“That a relationship should be fifty-fifty.”

That sentiment earns a large smile and a nod from Hera, until Jyn continues. “Fifty-fifty. You hold the storm trooper, and I punch him.”

There’s only a moment between Sabine’s immediate laughter and Luke throwing himself forward, to grab the boot wedging the door open and pull it away, allowing the door to hiss closed. Sabine hopes he acted fast enough, because she cannot stop laughing, and nor can Leia. The princess’s giggles are sweeter than any biscuit or cookie Sabine’s ever tasted, and the moment seems to last forever, a sparkling bit of peace in the midst of the war.

“I rather like that assessment,” Sabine finally gasps out. “A good foundation for any relationship.”

“I agree,” Leia says, smiling. Sabine looks down, to find that the princess’s hand is still resting on top of hers. “a relationship is all about balance.”

Sabine coughs. Now she’s the one blushing, feeling rather like the star of a holonovela herself. She leans forward to grab her cup of tea with her free hand, trying hard to take a sip, though her hand shakes, just a little. And it’s Luke and Hera’s turn to elbow each other, both of them with bright eyes and wide smiles.

“So, Leia,” Hera begins.

The door opens once more. The assembled group freezes, Hera nearly in mid sentence. A face appears in the doorway. Tousled brown hair, an impertinent nose, and green eyes stare back at the teatime group. They all freeze, as if they’ve been spotted by a nexu, and not just Jyn Erso. Then, the woman laughs. “I thought I recognized the laughter, Leia. And you’re Luke Skywalker, right? And Hera, and--”

“Sabine,” she says, wondering if she should draw her blaster.

“Can I stay for a cup of tea?” Jyn asks. “I’m parched.”

“Are you… sure?” Leia begins hesitantly. “I mean.. not that we were eavesdropping, it just seemed as if you were in the midst of a…”

Very private conversation, Sabine thinks.

But apparently Jyn doesn’t think so at all, as she squeezes into an empty spot at the table, taking a tea cup offered by Hera, and a cookie from Luke. There's a familiarity to her actions, the sort that comes about from having made friends quickly, at many different times, and in many different places. Sabine had seen it in Kanan, and in Leia herself. Perhaps that made a good Rebel, in some ways, the ability to easily jump into trust and friendship with another, no matter how distant your pasts were. “This is _great,_ ” Jyn says. “Really tasty. We’ve been living off ration bars for two weeks now. I swore I smelled tea, and here it is, and here you all are.”

“Indeed,” Leia says, softly, resorting back to manners, clearly flustered by the turn of events.

“And, uh,” Jyn rubs the back of her neck, a small tell hinting at perhaps the smallest bit of bashfulness. “About what you heard… when we were talking, you won’t tell anyone, right?”

“About you and Captain Andor?” Luke asks. He's so excited that his eyes seem to shine as bright as a lightsaber. “I mean, not that we noticed who it was, of course. We were very busy with our tea. We were discussing--”

“Battle plans.” Leia adds. “Very important ones.”

“Yes, those,” Luke agrees. The two seem rather skilled at finishing each other’s sentences, a fact that amuses Sabine. She notices too, how, though their features seem different at first glance, a sort of family resemblance lies underneath the difference of hair and eye color, and begins to wonder. That sort of wondering, though, is best left to a discussion a little more serious than that which takes place over tea and cookies.

“I like battle plans,” Jyn agrees. She bites into the cookie. “And yeah, I like Captain Andor too, if you have to know. I’m sure everyone’s talking about it.”

“Of course not,” Hera lies in that motherly way. “We’re simply glad to have you among us.”

“Oh come on,” Jyn laughs. “I would _totally_ talk about me, if I were you. I mean, me, here, among all you Rebels? With him? of all people? It’s a great kriff of a story, I’ll tell you that.”

There’s a roughness in Jyn that Sabine recognizes well, having seen it in a dear friend now away. A sort of defensive shield of sarcasm and toughness that hides, most likely, a warmer inside. But even now, it seems that mask is cracking, based on how easily Jyn relaxes around them.

“I see,” Leia muses. “Is that how you truly feel?”

Jyn nods, though there is a shadow of a blush once more on her face. “I mean… yeah. So… you want all the details?”

There’s only a moment of silence before Luke bursts out with a desperate, "Yes, please!”

And so, over tea, Jyn shares her story, and through its telling, Sabine thinks, she has found another friend. The future, after the war, too, seems a little brighter. Because if those two, spy and outlaw, could make a relationship work, who knows what the future could hold for a Mandalorian Rebel and an Alderaanian Princess?

After all, a relationship was all about balance, and she rather thought their two careers nicely balanced each other out indeed. And she was quite sure that Leia would be perfectly fine holding the storm trooper in question so Sabine could give him a well-deserved punch. That was, she thinks, the perfect expression of love.


End file.
